A Capital T: A Short Story of A Dirty Loner and An Orphaned Kit
by Aspenwing
Summary: Meet Wax, a loner in the countryside by the Clans. He's had an bad day and is in NO mood for kits. However, Sandra, an orphaned kit, cracks open his heart and finds herself a father. 8 seasons later, Sandra is alone, not knowing she is waiting for her part to play in a prophecy older than the stars...


Wax padded along the road, his bobbed tail twitching irritably. His yellow coat was matted with mud, after the monster had splashed him with mud. His amber eyes glared at anything that moved and he was not, repeat NOT, in the mood for a pitiful kit.

But, Wax had not been having the luckiest day in his life either. He had gotten thrown out of his home by his arch enemy (A nest of wasps), trampled by an excited dog that he didn't have the heart to scratch, and, finally, almost hit by a monster.

All of the sudden, as he was stalking alongside the road, a tiny white and gray kit ran crying out of the bushes.

"What the-?!" He yowled as the scrap of fur bowled into him. The she-kit was crying and was thin.

"Oy!" He growled "Get up!"

The kit had its face buried in Wax's fur, and he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time, though he ignored it and stepped away.

"Go along, kit." He sighed "Find your ma or pa or somethin' like that."

The kit looked up.

"That's the problem!" She wailed "Ma and Pa… the-they died!"

Wax sighed again. Orphans were not uncommon in the countryside, nor the dump nearby. The feeling he had had before was compassion, and it was surely breaking his heart now. He blinked and picked the scrap up.

"I'll take you along," He mumbled around the fur "Till ya' grow up." The kit fell asleep almost at once, and Wax soon settled down under a bush. Licking the kit clean, he chuckled to himself. He was acting like a queen. He feel asleep.

When he woke up, he found a tiny vole at his paws, and the kit gazing at it proudly.

"Caught it all by myself!" She mewed "No cat needed ta help me, no siryee!"

Wax smiled and heaved himself up. "Kit, what's yur name?"

"Sandra." She whispered "My ma used to call me Trouble with a capital T though. That don't matter no more."

Wax smiled and stretched. "Well, Trouble with a capital T, let's start our trip!"

Sandra looked up quizzically. "Trip where?"

Wax smirked. "To the Clans."

As they began their trip, Wax learned the faults of the chatterbox kit. He soon knew everything about her, her favorite prey, her entire family tree (up to great great great great great great grandma Birch, whom Wax suspected lived somewhere around the stone age) and her favorite color "It's blue, but not river blue or sky blue. It's somewhere in the middle, like the type of blue in your dreams, y'know?".

Wax just kept on nodding and "hmm"ing and "huh"ing.

But Wax was always listening, and his heart opened up to Sandra.

8 seasons later….

Sandra missed Wax. Badly. The old tom had gone on his way, telling Sandra that she was a full grown "lady" and could take care of herself. When she had asked where he was going, he simply said "I'll be goin' 'round."

She lived next to the Clans, learning their ways without being discovered. She lived the way Wax taught her: Take no more than you need, be kind and courteous.

Sandra would often dream about Wax, she and him would have long talks in a star covered land. When she asked where he was now, he said that he lived in the star land, which confused Sandra.

One day, she heard a yowling of a cat in pain, a cat in terror, and she dashed down to see a small tom being chased by a vicious looking she-cat. Bunching up her muscles, she flew through the air and landed on the she-cat's back, tearing with her claws.

"Hurry!" She screamed "Run!" The she-cat tore herself free and ran after the tom. Sandra knew that the tom could never escape those claws, those vicious fangs. _Maybe he'll end up in that star land with Wax, fancy that! _She thought.

She turned away, not knowing that in 3 moons, in another Clan, she would play a role so great, Great with a capital G.


End file.
